


A Killing Thing

by MadreLoca



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Agent As Unsub, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadreLoca/pseuds/MadreLoca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the team is killing high-risk targets in DC. DACriminalMindsLovers contest fic: Who would make the best UNSUB? DarkFic and CCD, you have been warned!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Killing Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story from my fanfiction and deviantArt accounts. It was a contest entry for the deviantArt group CriminalMindsLovers contest “Who would make the best UNSUB/villain?” I won second place! The story takes place immediately after 5/10 after the whole Foyet thing ended

_Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.  
Louis L'Amour_

No one thought twice when Aaron Hotchner was gone a week longer than expected. After all, he had just buried his ex wife and he had a son who needed his daddy. So on the morning that DC police called about what was now five bodies found in the back allies of the capital city, the team consisted of Acting Unit Chief Derek Morgan, SSA David Rossi, Special Agent Emily Prentiss, Dr. Spencer Reid, Communications Liaison Jennifer Jareau, and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia.

JJ did not brief the case in the BAU room as normal; Morgan sent text messages to everyone telling them to report to the Washington DC police department that Monday morning.

"Okay, I'm confused," Prentiss said as she entered the large conference room with her left eyebrow raised carrying a steaming cup of coffee. "This never happens."

Morgan and Rossi were already seated at the oval table and Reid, who carried his own cup of coffee and wore a similar dumbfounded expression to that of his female colleague, closely followed Prentiss.

"Morgan, sense when do you call us directly to the police department? Protocol states that we –"

"Protocol is a waist of time." Morgan answered before his genius subordinate could quote the handbook. "The case is right here, so we can save a few hours by skipping the BAU room."

Prentiss and Reid shrugged almost in sync. "Fare enough." Prentiss accepted her bosses reasoning and seated herself next to Rossi, while Reid took his place next to Morgan.

"Time is of the essence here," A commanding yet soft female voice came from the doorway. In came JJ, handing files to each of her teammates as se made her way to the front of the room. "Five bodies in two weeks. The last two were killed only a day apart."

Rossi's eyes widened. "Cooling off period is defiantly shrinking."

Everyone immediately opened their files, containing photos and coroners reports of five victims.

"None of them were reported missing?" Prentiss enquired.

"Only one of them has even been identified. Vic number two, Koichi Tatsuga," Morgan answered. "Bums, prostitutes, junkies. High-risk targets."

"Victimology appears to be all over the place," Reid observed. "Respectively, we have an older white male, a young Asian male, a middle aged black female, a young white male, and another black female, this time young. Are we sure it's the same unsub?"

JJ nodded and turned on the overhead screen, showing a lineup of crime scene photos. "Each victim was strangled with a ligature and suffered severe blows to the head post and anti mortem. Forensics says that lividity is fixed."

"He leaves them where he kills them," Rossi pondered, "says he doesn't care if they are found; no personal connection."

"But look at how the bodies appear to be posed," Morgan pointed out, "Their hands are crossed over their chest. The blood on their face is smeared, meaning he touched their faces for some reason. These are all signs of remorse."

"Death by strangulation or blunt force trauma would most likely cause the victim to die with their eyes open." Reid suggested. "The unsub must have closed their eyes."

Rossi nodded. "Confirms that he feels remorse after he kills them. But that doesn't make sense. Why would an unsub who has any form of compassion show so much rage in the kill?"  
"Could our unsub be in a psychotic break?" Prentiss suggested.

Reid chewed his bottom lip in thought. "Possible, but not likely. You wouldn't expect to find an M.O. this consistent, even if victimology isn't. It lacks the frantic nature you would usually find in cases where an unsub is having a break of any sort."

"To learn anything else about our unsub, we'll need to see the crime scenes," Morgan said as he rose from his chair. "Rossi, Prentiss, you go to the latest crime scene. Reid, you come to the coroner's office with me. JJ, you stay here and call Garcia, see if you can't track down Tatsuga's family."

_**Previous Night** _

Darkness. It surrounded him physically and emotionally. All that embraced his entire being at that precise moment was darkness. How many times would he do this to himself, he wondered as he wandered the streets in a part of the US Capital city that he had absolutely no business setting foot in.

He could not control it.

He tried to forget the first time he had killed a man with his bare hands. But he couldn't forget it. He couldn't forget the horrifying fact that, despite the desperate situation he had been in at the time, despite the terror, despite all else, it had actually felt _good_. He had been just angry enough that he enjoyed the necessary kill. It had taken killing in what was truly cold blood for him to realize that he would never forget that haunting fact. The second time, he realized that he could not get rid of it. But the third time…the third time he killed in cold blood was when he accepted what he had become, accepted what his pent up anger had turned him in to. The time after that, the fourth time, he wasn't merely walking to clear his mind, he was searching for another outlet for his anger, another poor helpless soul to use to free himself, if only for a short while.

He was _hunting._

That was just last night. Yet here he was again, on the streets occupied by the homeless and the desperate. His anger was still too much to manage. He needed another one. Another outlet. Another tool. 

Another _victim._

"What's a high time hot shot like you doing in a place like this?" he heard the sarcastic voice behind him.

The killer turned around to see a skinny African-American female. Hot shot? He fucking hated himself for what he was and this bitch thought he was some hot shot?

The woman cocked her head. "Looking for a good time?" The woman approached the man who was growing more enraged every second. "Need to blow off so steam, Mr. Grumpy Face?"

"Blow off some steam," the killer growled as he slowly removed his tie. A look of terror spread across the woman's face as she realized what this man must be. She did not have time enough to scream before the stone-faced killer twisted the tie around her slender neck and drug her into the darkest corner of the ally.

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

"So this guy just walks down the street at nigh, calm, cool, and collected, then strikes out at a seemingly random target?" Morgan though out loud as he and Reid examined the latest crime scene.

"He must be highly skilled in concealing and controlling his anger." Reid speculated.

As Reid spoke, Morgan felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He took out his phone and looked at the name on the caller ID. "It's Hotch," he announced and answered the call. "Yeah, Hotch, what is it. You're supposed to be on leave. Not to sound rude, but why are you calling me?"

"I saw on the news that the BAU is working the string of murders in DC. High-risk targets. How is the investigation progressing?"

Morgan made no effort to hide his confusion. "Yeah, Reid and I are at the latest crime scene. Are you checking up on me or something, Hotch?"

"No, not at all, I trust you as a leader. I was just curious."

Morgan chuckled. "Hotch, you're addicted to the job, man. If you want to come back just call Straus but I still say you need the rest of the week."

Hotch was silent for a moment before answering. "No, you're right. I need…" His sentence trailed off.

"You need what? Is there anything I can do?"

Hotch cleared his throat. "I need to be here with Jack."

"Okay, well just call if you need anything. Keep the television off the news station, alright?"

"I'm sorry, Morgan. I'm addicted to the job."

Morgan was even more confused as he hung up the phone.

"What was that about?" Reid asked.

Morgan shook his head. "Ya know kid, I have absolutely no idea."

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

"There are no fibers around the neck wound and absolutely no defensive wounds," the medical examiner hardly looked up from her clipboard as she spoke to Rossi and Prentiss. "It was impossible to determine if the cause of death was the asphyxiation or the blunt force trauma. What I can tell you is that the occipital lobe was almost completely destroyed."

Rossi grimaced. "It's almost as if the unsub smashed her head into the ground while he strangled her."

The medical examiner nodded. "That was my deduction as well."

"You were right, Rossi," Prentiss said shaking her head. "That's a lot of rage to turn around and feel remorse for it afterwards."

Rossi nodded and ran his fingers through his goatee. "He was quick to realize the evil of his actions. He comes down from his rage immediately after killing his victim, and then doesn't panic. He is controlled and focused enough to position the body. I bet we'll find that he's a very fastidious, mature, emotionally collected man."

The medical examiner rolled her eyes. "Yeah, emotionally collected until something really pisses him off."

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

A small, week, barely there smile tugged at the corners of Aaron Hotchner's lips as watched his son Jack arrange his trucks in a row on the living room floor.

A smile. When was the last time he had truly and fully smiled? Ages, it seamed. He only came close when he was with Jack. His little boy was the only comfort he had in the world. Well, there was the _other_ thing.

No. Hotch quickly averted his eyes. He couldn't look at his innocent child when he thought about such things. He feared that if their eyes met while his mind pondered evil he would corrupt the sweet boy; soil the only pure thing left in his life. In a hurry he sat up from his seat on the couch.

"Where aw you going, Daddy?" came Jack's melodic young voice.

"Daddy has to go to the bathroom Jack." He couldn't even glance up at his son when he answered.

Hotch slammed the bathroom door behind him and began to tremble. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and for a moment he couldn't tell who he was looking at. Was he looking at a loving husband, a caring father, a loyal brother, a dedicated leader, an honest friend?

No. He was looking at a monster.

He thought about his life and how it had gone to ruin.

He thought about Sean.

He thought about Jack.

He thought about Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Reid, JJ, and Garcia. His team. Even Gideon and Elle flickered briefly across his mind.  
He thought about Hailey.

He thought about his damn abusive father.

He thought about George Foyet.

Most of all, Aaron Hotchner thought about the _darkness._

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

After a short deliberation in the conference room, the team was ready to give a profile to the officers of the Washington DC police department.

"Statistics tell us that our unsub is a white male between the ages of thirty five and forty five, but we can't rule out any suspect simple because of age discrepancies." Reid was the first to begin delivering the profile.

Prentiss continued, "The victims are all of various age, gender, and race, but they are all high-risk targets. The MO is not consistent with a housecleaner or sadist, the types of unsub that usually preys on these types of victims in such a way."

Morgan pointed his remote to the overhead screen, bringing up the crime scene photos of the latest five kills. "This guy hasn't even contacted the media or local PD, meaning he's not after attention either. This is rare for this type of unsub. For our guy it's all about anger. His victims are nothing more than a tool he uses to let out anger. The fact that there is no sign of sexual assault suggests that sexual tension is not a source of his rage."

Reid spoke again, continuing the profile where his unit chief left off. "He has suffered a recent stressor, something that ignited intense rage in our unsub. He compartmentalizes and internalizes far better than the average person. It is possible that the stressor was a series of stressful events ending in what was most likely a violent encounter that forced the unsub's anger to externalize."

"He's been suffering silently until now," Rossi added. "People who know him would describe him as the 'strong and silent' type. He uses blitz attacks, and usually we would say that this indicated a lack of confidence or people skills. We don't believe that to be the case with our unsub. He wants to get it over with; release his anger and get the hell out. He isn't the type to revisit the scene or inject himself into the investigation. However, he will follow the investigation closely."

"He shows remorse," Prentiss continued. "After a rage filled kill, he closes the victim's eyes and crosses their arms over their chest. He is generally a compassionate man." Prentiss paused awkwardly. "Aside from being a violent, rage filled killer, that is.

Morgan sighed and shook his head, making several of the police officers laugh. "Compassionate, who knows? But defiantly a remorseful killer. He's also extremely intelligent. The victims were strangled with a ligature, but there are no fiber traces around the neck. He didn't use his hands because he didn't want to leave prints. His prints are probably in the system. Not many people realize that you can leave fingerprints on someone's body, or know how to avoid leaving forensic evidence. This tells us our unsub either has a record or is part of or even close to law enforcement."

Prentiss concluded the profile. "Someone has noticed this man beginning to break down, his usual shied and tough guy air falling apart. They will probably attribute it to his recent stress, but never once thinking that the man they are close to could be a violent killer."

At the end, JJ stood before the large group of officers. "Please pass this on to all of the divisions in your department, especially those who regularly canvas high-risk environments. We will be delivering the profile to the media in a pres conference soon."

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Reporters bombarded JJ with questions after her delivery of the profile in the press conference.

"Do you have any leads?"

"Have the rest of the victims been identified?"

"What's the next step in the investigation?"

JJ calmly yet defensively raised her hands. "We have nothing more to report at this time. I will keep the media posted as the investigation progresses. Thank you."  
This did not deter the flood of questioning from dozens of reporters  
.  
"You mentioned law enforcement. Is the DC Phantom a cop?"

"Do you think the DC Phantom will kill again tonight?"

JJ froze. She then turned around and stepped up to her podium again. "Excuse me, what are you calling this man?"

"The DC Phantom," shouted someone from the crowd of journalists.

"The FBI strongly discourages the media from giving names to serial killers. It glorifies them not to mention that this suspect doesn't want unnecessary attention. A name could antagonize him. I must ask the news agency that invented this name to retract it and refrain from publishing it at least until the killer is apprehended. Thank you."

JJ ignored the any other questions as she hurried to make her way back inside the police department building.

When she made it back to the conference room where her team awaited her, JJ let out a frustrated sigh. "They are already calling the unsub –"

"The DC Phantom," Prentiss interrupted. "We heard."

"Why 'Phantom', though?" Rossi wondered.

"'Phantom' was apparently the only appropriate word left that sounded intriguing," Reid suggested. "He doesn't use a knife or any other sharp object, thus disqualifying him from being categorized as a 'ripper.' 'Strangler' would also be inappropriate as the victim's cause of death could just as easily be blunt force trauma, according to the medical examiner,"

"Pretty Boy, instead of chattering away about cute serial killer names, maybe we should get back to work on that geographical profile," Morgan chastised playfully.

"There's not much to work with," Reid said as he swiveled his rolling chair around to face his pushpin filled map. Five kill sites in the same general aria, but I find it hard to believe that an unsub like ours lives in this area. I did notice one interesting anomaly. The last four kill sites were grouped in a three-block radius. However, the first kill was four blocks north of this area, telling me that perhaps the first victim is the only one in any sort of comfort zone."

"So he lives or works in a three mile radius of his first kill," Prentiss agreed.

"Most likely lives in the area, I don't know about working, though. He kills between midnight and two in the morning," Morgan mused, "If he's as smart as we think he is he could have intentionally gone out of his comfort zone with his next four victims."

Just then, Morgan and JJ's phones rang almost simultaneously. "That's odd," JJ laughed and checked her phone. "Even odder, it's Hotch."

Morgan was about to say something to the affect of, "Why the hell is he calling again," but he smiled when he saw the name on his phone. Morgan happily answered the call while JJ stepped out of the room to take the call from Hotch.

"Hay, Baby Girl. What is this, do you have something?

"Do. I. Have. Something?" Garcia over articulated, sounding quite annoyed. "No. I have absolutely nothing. Do you know why I have absolutely nothing? Because YOU HAVE NOT ASKED ME FOR ANYTHING!"

"Wow, there, Garcia, calm down. What's this about?"

"What's this about? I'll tell you what this is about tough guy, you have not called me all day and I'm lonely and sad and forgotten and all that melodramatic stuff."

Morgan could hear the pout in her voice. "I'm sorry if I haven't made you feel important, Baby Girl."

"Just tell me you love me, my Chocolate Love Muffin, and all will be forgiven."

Morgan laughed. "Come on now Baby you know I love you. I just don't know what to ask you for. There aren't a lot of parameters to narrow down a search."

"My Hershey's Kiss forgets! I, the lovely mistress of all things tech, have powers unmatched by any in the universe!"

Morgan sighed and glared at Reid's map. "Okay Lady G, we're looking for someone whose fingerprints are in any state or national database; a white male aged thirty-five to forty-five. He lives in a three mile radius of the first kill site."

The quirky technical analyst's fingers flew across her keyboard and within seconds she had a sizable list in front of her.  
"I have eighty-seven, Baby. Give me more clues,"

"I told you, we don't have a lot to work with. Keep that list handy though and we'll-" Morgan paused when Reid reached out his hand for the phone. "Oh, wait. Looks like I've lost you to a better man, Baby Girl. Talk to Reid."

"Hi, Garcia," Reid greeted.

"Talk nerdy to me, my sexy G-man."

Reid was slightly taken aback by Garcia's use of the word "sexy" referring to him, but proceeded. "Garcia, we've profiled the unsub as having suffered a series of stressful events leading up to a violent encounter that forced the unsub to externalize his anger. Go back six months and look for violent crimes charges; the trial is either still pending or he was acquitted. He may have even killed someone before his murder spree started, but it was ruled self defense or some other form of justifiable homicide."

"You thought I couldn't work with that? Alas, thou hast underestimated my great powers!"

"We sincerely apologize, Garcia," Reid said as he rolled his eyes in amusement.

"Apology accepted, Boy Wonder. Over and out!"

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Meanwhile out in the hall JJ was on the phone with Hotch. "Hay, Hotch what's up?"

"I just saw your press conference," Hotch said dryly. His tone was usually void on any readable emotion, but his tone was different now. It was completely flat.

"Yes, it didn't take the team long to profile this unsub. But why are you –"

"They named him." His voice was just as flat as before, but with an edge to it that only some one who knew the man would pick up on, and it worried JJ.  
"Yes, Sir. I told them to retract the name but-"

Hotch cut her off, and this time his voice sounded more like an inhuman growl that further terrified the blond agent. "The DC Phantom!"

"Y-Yes Sir," JJ stammered in shock at first bet then spoke quickly. "I know it's bad for the case; that's why I told the media to retract the name." She paused, and when her obviously angry boss did not answer she continued. "Hotch, what is wrong? It's not the first time this has happened and given the circumstances it is defiantly not the worst thing that could have happened to the investigation." Hotch still did not reply. "The rest of the team is working on the geographical profile right now and Garcia is narrowing down search parameters. If it's the unsub you're worried about, we'll find him. Hotch please answer me?"

There was no answer, only a dial tone. Confused and extremely worried, JJ closed her phone and rejoined her team in the conference room.

"Hay JJ, what did Hotch want this time?" Morgan asked after JJ had closed the door behind her.

"I don't know but something is defiantly wrong with him. What do you mean 'this time?'"

"Hotch called me while Reid and I were at the crime scene. He asked how the investigation was progressing. I'm worried about him though. Did he seam a little, I don't know, off when you talked to him?"

JJ snorted indignantly. "'Off' would be a dramatic understatement. The man is pissed."

Rossi's eyes widened. "In all the years I've know Aaron Hotchner, I've seen him cry, grit his teeth and even laugh if you can believe it. I've seen him happy, drunk, annoyed, depressed, grumpy, but I can't remember ever seeing him certifiably angry."

"Neither have I," JJ admitted.

"Um, yes we have," Morgan piped in.

"When?" Prentiss asked curiously.

Morgan hesitated before answering. "When do you think?"

The room grew solemn as one by one they realized what Morgan meant. Prentiss and Rossi had been there to witness as Morgan literally pulled their unit chief off of the body of the man he had just beaten to death: George Foyet. JJ and Reid saw first hand the bittersweet reunion between the father and son.

Reid broke the awkward silence. "I, um," he stammered, "I hate to be the one to point this out, but I, um…well, the issue needs to be addressed."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Spence?"

Reid took a deep breath, not able to believe that he was even going to bother saying this. But he was right, he told himself. The issue needed to be addressed. "Hotch fits our profile."

Morgan did not miss a beat in replying. "Come on now, kid. Don't go there. How many times have we given a profile and afterwards realized that is sounded like one of us? Avid outdoorsman who can't keep women," he motioned to Rossi, "Socially awkward kid with abandonment issues," he motioned to Reid.

This is where Reid cut in. He knew exactly what else had to be on the tip of Morgan's mind. Local man who spends time with the children of the community, perhaps? He had to tread lightly to make his point without setting Morgan off. "Yes, I realize that in a group such as ours that consists of so many various backgrounds, upbringings, personalities, experiences, morals, political views, and even spiritual beliefs that the chances of at least one of us not fitting at least part of a profile are statistically slim. However, how often does one of us fit an entire profile to the letter?"

Morgan stiffened. "Once." The word seemed to have been bitten off the front of a sharp exhale of breath.

Damn, Reid though. So much for treading lightly. "Morgan, I understand where you're coming from, but-"

Reid would have expected Morgan's next words to be angry or harsh, but the tone they came in was calm and matter of fact. "You don't understand shit."

As Morgan stormed out of the conference room, Reid realized that there was nothing he could have said or not said to have salvaged that conversation. It had, after all, been Hotch who had been forced to profile Morgan. Everyone could tell that Morgan was not about to do the same to Hotch.

"What's under his nails?" Rossi asked.

"Classified information," Prentiss quickly answered, knowing that Rossi was the only one of them that hadn't been in Chicago when Morgan's like had crashed down around them all.  
Reid pursed his lips and nodded in confirmation when Rossi looked back at him. What else could he do? In less than two minutes he had as much as accused their boss and friend of being their unsub and thoroughly pissed Morgan off in the process.

There was simply nothing more to be said.

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

After Morgan had stormed out and Rossi, JJ, and Prentiss went out to lunch, Reid took very little time in making a very important decision. Hotch had not been Hotch lately; it didn't take a profiler to see that. Weather or not Hotch was in fact the "DC Phantom" someone still needed to go check on the grieving unit chief, and that someone might as well be Reid.

_Someone has noticed this man beginning to break down, his usual shied and tough guy air falling apart. They will probably attribute it to his recent stress, but never once think that the man they are close to could be a violent killer._

Even aside from being the boss, Hotch had always been the rock of the team. Anytime any one of his subordinates, his friends, had a problem, they could always get advice from Hotch, knowing that he would not be angry with them or be judgmental of anything they did, thought, or felt. As Reid drove the relatively short distance from the station to Hotch's apartment, he wondered whom it was that Hotch went to when he needed a listening ear.

_He compartmentalizes and internalizes far better than the average person. People who know him would describe him as the 'strong and silent' type._

Hotch didn't think about himself, though. He cared deeply for his family, his team, and for the victims they saved (and the families of the ones they didn't.) He never asked for sympathy, charity, or special favors, aside from the occasional personal say to spend with Jack.

_He is generally a compassionate man._

But ever sense the first attack by Foyet, Reid, the entire team for that matter, had watched Hotch slowly and gradually crack. Even before that, when Hailey first left him he became even more stoic and hard-faced than he had been before. It wasn't until Hailey's murder that they had seen their rock shatter. Morgan had pointed it out in the conference room. Yes, they had seen Hotch angry, murderously angry, and understandably so.

_It is possible that the stressor was a series of stressful events ending in what was most likely a violent encounter that forced his anger to externalize._

Everyone knew all to well about the five stages of grieving. Hotch was in the stage of anger. Everyone knew that. Reid pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex and he couldn't help but wonder: Hotch may be angry, but did the homicidal rage die with Foyet? Or did he continue to internalize for Jack's sake?

_He may have a family or someone he feels obligated to protect._

Reid hesitated when he reached the security door to the building. He simply starred at the row of buttons for a minute or so (exactly one minute and three seconds) before finally hitting the buzzer to Hotch's apartment.

"Who is it?" a voice came over the speaker. It was electronically distorted and clouded with a hint of…something else. But it was Hotch.

"It's Reid," he answered, speaking slightly louder than normal so that his voice reached the microphone.

Inside the apartment, Hotch held the listening button down. He was just barely starting to come down from his rage over his new nickname, but hearing the nervous voice of his youngest subordinate re-ignited his anger. He balled up his fist and slammed it into the wall so hard that his hand and arm halfway up to his elbow went through the drywall. He forced himself to steady his heavy, erratic breathing before…

Back downstairs Reid was beginning to think Hotch would never let him in. Just as he turned to walk away, he heard the door buzz and click as it unlocked.

He took the stairs up to the 3rd floor, having had a slight fear of elevators from the incident where he and Morgan had almost become trapped. Reid felt an overwhelming sense of dread pool in his gut when he reached the top of the last flight of stares. He thought perhaps he should have told someone where he was going.

Reid knocked softly three times on Hotch's apartment door. The dread he felt was already beginning to turn to panic, and Reid wondered why he was reacting in such a way to a simple visit to his boss and friend.

Could it be because this was no simple visit? Reid tried to tell himself that he was only coming to check on Hotch, that this had nothing to do with the fact that Hotch fit the profile of an unsub who beats/chokes his victims to death. Reid did not actually believe that Hotch was the unsub.

Reid did not actually believe that Hotch could possibly be their unsub.

No. Reid knew that Hotch could not possibly be the DC Phantom.

In the three seconds between Reid knocking and Hotch answering, Reid completely re-evaluated the situation. He came to the conclusion once and for all that Aaron Hotchner…  
The Hotch that answered the door was barely recognizable. His hair was uncombed leaving several strands to fall over his forehead and his eyes were bloodshot. His was wearing the shirt, tie, and slacks of a suit and shoes to match, but Reid could see the jacket haphazardly slung over the back of a chair, and the tie was untied hanging loosely around his neck. The shirt itself was wrinkled and un-tucked. He had a bottle of Scotch in one hand and the other was scraped and bleeding, already beginning to bruise.  
In short, Hotch looked like absolute hell.

"Whadoyou want, Reid?"

Knowing that Hotch's slurred grumble was all he was going to get as far as a greeting went, Reid cleared his throat and glanced at the floor nervously before forcing himself to initiate eye contact. "Can I, um…do you mind if I come in?"

Hotch swung the door fully open and stepped aside, thus indicating the closest thing to a yes that he intended to offer his visiting friend.

But was he visiting as a friend, Hotch wondered, or was he here to talk about the case that he had stupidly called Morgan and JJ about? Hotch watched as Reid entered the apartment and looked around, no doubt profiling the surroundings and thus profiling him. It didn't matter much to Hotch, not at the moment, anyway, even if there was an unwritten rule in the BAU about profilers not profiling each other. How many times had that rule been broken? Several. But weather or not Reid was profiling him at the moment was insignificant compared to what else was on Hotch's mind; the reason he had become angry at Reid's visit in the first place: Had the profile lead them to him? If so, is that why Reid was here now, and why would he come alone? Did the others even know he was here? If so, were they on their way. But if not, then why wouldn't he tell them?

These questions and many more were interrupted in Hotch's racing mind when Reid spoke. His voice was timid and caring, not what Hotch would have expected from someone who thought he was alone with a serial killer.

"Hotch, what happened here? Are you okay?" Upon asking those questions, another concern came to mind. "And where's Jack."

The disheveled agent sighed, releasing a very slight amount of tension. "Punched a wall," he answered simply. "Jack's with Jess."

"That's good. I mean, that Jack is with Jessica, not that you punched a wall, which I can clearly tell that you have done judging from your bleeding, swollen hand, not to mention the gaping hole," Reid did his best not to sound sarcastic but was worried that it was not working. He really did have to tread lightly this time. Stepping on one of Morgan's nerves, he had learned, was quite easily fixed with a sincere apology and a smile. Angering Hotch in his current state, he feared, could prove lethal.

Especially if his suspicions were correct.

Reid continued with little hesitation. "I know what physically happened, but…why Hotch?"

"Your..." Hotch's face curled into a snarl "…unsub. They named him, Reid." He clenched his injured hand into a fist and suddenly yelled, "They named him!"

Reid flinched but continued his line of questioning. "That's what I don't understand! Why are you so irate over the media naming this unsub? JJ was right, it's not the worst that has ever happened and you aren't even on the case. What is it about this particular case, Hotch; this particular unsub?"

Hotch threw his half-full bottle of Scotch against the nearest wall, shattering the glass and further frightening Reid.

"Names make them famous!" Hotch screamed. "They go down in history, they autograph mug shots, as many fans as they have they might as well be fucking rock stars for christ's sake!" Hotch was beginning to breath heavily as he collapsed sitting on the couch.

This confirmed it, Reid thought. Reid knew without a doubt what it was about this particular unsub.

Hotch was this particular unsub. Hotch was undoubtedly the DC Phantom.

Burying his head in his hands, he began to try to steady his breath. "They aren't stars." Reid could barely understand the muffled words, but could tell that his friend (and he was still a friend) was actually crying. "They destroy lives; destroy families. A name only serves to immortalize them." The tears were obvious on his face when Hotch looked up. He stared straight ahead, empty emption on his face, but what his face lacked his voice made up for. "The names get them the attention; the fans; the fame. Fucking household names like Strangler, Ripper, Stalker, Phantom," Hotch bit out the last word and looked directly at Reid with murder in his eyes, "Reaper."

"Hotch," Reid's voice cracked slightly. "I know -"

Hotch cocked an eyebrow and his eyes opened up completely, giving Reid a brief glimpse at the Hotch he knew. "Did you know that some idiot made a Facebook fan page for the son-of-a-bitch?"

Reid slowly and cautiously approached Hotch as if the man on the couch was a cornered animal that could attack at any moment. "I know, Hotch."

"You know?" there was Hotch replied was not angry, but questioning with a hint of sarcasm. He scoffed and shook his head. "Morgan was right, you really do think you know everything."

"No, no Hotch," Reid tried to sound comforting while he knelt down on the floor beside Hotch and looked up at him, trying to ketch his eyes, which Hotch silently insisted on averting. "I defiantly do not know everything. But there is something I do know because the team profiled the unsub. He's a remorseful killer. We all know that remorseful killers," Reid paused and tentatively placed his hand on Hotch's knee, "they don't want to be rock stars and they don't want to be monsters either. They may not realize it but they want to get caught. They want to get caught so they can stop killing because they want so badly to stop but they can't."

When Hotch finally met Reid's gaze, it was clear to both of them that he understood what Reid was really trying to say.

Hotch seemed calm now. The calm frightened Reid more than anything, because he knew he was in the eye of the storm. "Reid, I…I can't…I can't do this Reid."

"I know that saying it makes it real; I know you don't want it to be real, but it has to be real. I've been an addict, Hotch, and I know that if you don't admit it's real than it will never end."  
"What do you want from me," Hotch asked desperately.

Reid replied simply, "I want you to confess to murdering five people."

Hotch nodded. In an interview room he knew he would have gotten defensive, but here in the comfort of his own living room with an "interrogator" who was as non threatening as possible, he felt that he could finally let it go, finally end this madness.

But what would he tell Jack? Daddy had to go away again, but this time for a very long time? He could never crush is son by telling him that instead of chasing bad guys, daddy was the bad guy. He would have to think of something; he was sure his team would help him, if only for Jack's sake.

And that's when Hotch new that, for Jack's sake, he had to tell Reid what he already knew; what he had so bravely come over knowing. Three simple words. I killed them.

I. Killed. Them.

I.

Killed.

Them.

Hotch did not break eye contact with Reid when he confessed.

"I killed them."

Reid had was so terrified of what might happen next that he had to physically struggle to breathe. He was sure he resembled something between a kicked puppy and a dear about to be hit by a truck. "Okay, he said with a voice so timid and quiet it might not have even been a word. "That's all I needed to –"

"Okay!" and just like that Hotch was angry again, and for the first time it occurred to Reid that he might not make it out of the building alive. "I just confessed to five murders, and you're saying 'okay'?"

Just then, Reid's phone chimed the tone announcing that he had received a text message.

"Don't answer that!" Hotch commanded.

"It's just a text," Reid defended and slowly reached into his pocket.

"I said don't –"

"It's Morgan," Reid interrupted, something that he was immediately aware that he should not have done. "Morgan is my supervisor, my boss. I can't not answer him." He usually would not have used a double negative, but his mind was racing too fast for even the genius to worry about proper grammar. All he cared about was effectively communicating with his former unit chief so that they could both make it out of the situation alive and well.

Hotch did not reply, and Reid took that as permission to at least read the message.

"Are they coming?" Hotch growled.

Reid nodded weakly as he read Morgan's text message.

_"Thought bout what u said, sorry I got mad at u. W/ Rossi on the way 2 talk 2 Hotch. Where r u?"_

As fast as he could, Reid typed three words and had barely enough time to press "send" before Hotch rushed over, grabbed Reid's phone and hurled it across the room, where it smashed against the wall and shattered.

_"It's him. Hurry._

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and JJ were all sitting at a round table in a deli down the street from the police station when Garcia called Morgan.

"Hay, Baby Girl," Morgan answered, putting the tech on speaker, "You've got me, Rossi, Prentiss and JJ. How's that list of eighty-seven now?"

"Um…"

"Garcia?"

"Ummmm…"

"Garcia, come on, what is it."

"Well, I took that über long list and used Reid's parameters to narrow it down and I came up with one name which means-"

"Which means we've got our unsub," Prentiss interrupted.

"Give us the good's Baby!" Morgan said, excited that this case could be closed so quickly  
.  
"No, no," Garcia argued, "We have to start over. Give me different stuff because trust me my Fantastic Four, this lead's a no go."

"And why is that," Asked Rossi.

"Well sir, um, that's one of the many buggy things about computers, they're non discriminatory. They don't recognize fellow agents and friends and, well, good guys and realize that it's not possible for –"

JJ sighed and took a guess as to whom Garcia's search had lead them to. "Hotch?"

"Um,"

"Garcia," JJ said in a warning tone.

"Yes. Yes, it's Hotch."

Morgan chuckled slightly at the irony. "And I got mad at Reid when he mentioned Hotch."

"You got mad at Reid?" Garcia asked. "Wait, Reid mentioned Hotch?"

Prentiss nodded. "Reid mentioned that Hotch fits our profile of the unsub."

"Oh no." Garcia's little voice was filled with dread.

"Don't worry, Baby Girl," Morgan assured the worried analyst. "None of this means anything. Just sit tight and Google pix of baby animals or something until we call back, okay?"

"Okay," was all she said when she hung up, no witty exiting line as was the norm.

"None of this means anything?" Rossi repeated Morgan's words at him questioningly.

"I just told her that so she wouldn't worry. Trust me Rossi, I know what this means."

"Wow, hold the phone," Prentiss raised a hand defensively. "You don't seriously think Hotch is the DC Phantom, do you?"

"I'm not saying for sure one way or the other, Prentiss."

"At the very least," Rossi continued Morgan's thought, "One of us should go and talk to him. I think I'll head over there, if nothing else to check up on the man. He hasn't quite been himself today."

Morgan followed suit with Rossi as he stood to leave. "I'm coming with you. If by chance he is our unsub," he paused to shake his head in disbelief. Hadn't he defended Hotch only an hour ago? "You shouldn't go alone."

"Well, let us come with you then?" JJ offered.

"No," Rossi said, "We don't want to make him feel like it's an ambush."

Once the men got to the SUV, Morgan began to seriously wonder about Reid, and voiced his concerns to Rossi. "I wonder where Reid is."

"Probably avoiding you," Rossi stated, "He thinks he really pissed you off back in the conference room."

"He did really piss me off. But I'm over it now. Now I'm just worried about him."

"You don't think the kid went to confront Hotch on his own, do you," Rossi worried aloud.

"If he did it's my fault." Morgan buckled himself into the drivers seat while Rossi shut the front passenger door. "I was the one who refused to listen to him."

Before he started the car, Morgan decided that he would send Reid a text message to find out where his young subordinate was, and to let him know that he was no longer angry.

_"Thought bout what u said, sorry I got mad at u. W/ Rossi on the way 2 talk 2 Hotch. Where r u?"_

No sooner had Morgan started the vehicle and shifted into drive, his phone buzzed receiving a text message. Morgan read the answer and panic shot through him. He pulled out of his parking space like he was escaping the depths of hell and turned on the lights and siren.

"What is it, Morgan?" Rossi asked in shock.

"Reid's with Hotch! It's him Rossi."

"Shit!"

_"It's him. Hurry."_

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

"H-Hotch please," Reid begged, trying in vain to remain calm, "Please don't do this. L-let me h-help you."

"No one can help me now," the killer's vicious voice came from the back of his throat.

"Y-yes I can. If you just wait for Morgan and Rossi, we can all figure out how to make this easiest on you and Jack. Please, Hotch. Think about Jack, will you?"

Once again, Hotch's fist went through a wall. This time his fist flew past Reid, missing his face by barely an inch, smashing through the wall behind him. "Don't tell me about my son, you know-it-all piece of shit!"

Reid defensively raised his hands in front of him. "I-I'm sorry, Hotch. I didn't mean-"

"SHUT UP!" Hotch roared in Reid's face. The overwhelming smell of liquor on Hotch's breath combined with his own fear made him want to vomit.

Hotch ripped his hand out of the wall, and with the other forcefully shoved Reid against the wall so hard that it almost knocked the air out of Reid's lungs.

Reid could still breath, but it was difficult to say the least. He was more filled with more terror in that moment than he had been at any time before in his life.

Tobias/Charles/Raphael was nothing compared to this.

Reid had very little time, less than two seconds in fact, to process his next series of thoughts. Was Hotch about to kill him? How could he talk him down? Was it even possible to talk Hotch down at this point? How on God's green earth (and Reid didn't even believe in God) was he going to get out of this alive? Would he be better off if he fought him? Could Reid fight him? Was he physically capable of fighting Hotch?

_Fight or flight?_

Reid was well aware of the affect that adrenalin and the mixture of other brain chemicals released during high-stress situations could have to enhance ones ability to perform a physically difficult task requiring strength and agility that may otherwise be lacking, as well as the fact that the logic of the conscious mind was less prone to inhibit the survival instinct of the subconscious mind in situations such as the one with which he was currently faced.

Hotch's hand moved to Reid's neck, not applying enough pressure to restrict breathing, but enough to keep Reid pinned.

_Fight or flight?_

The flight option was gone, leaving Reid with only one choice.

Reid grabbed Hotch's outstretched arm by the elbow and squeezed two highly sensitive pressure points while at the same time kicking his friend turned assailant in the shin.  
Hotch cried out in pain and reached for Reid's neck with his free hand. Reid pushed him away and kicked him again, eliciting another pained yell as Hotch fell to the floor.

_Fight or Flight?_

Reid had a clear path to the door now. Or so he thought. Reid made a mad dash for the door, but no sooner had he gripped the doorknob than Hotch grabbed Reid by the ankle and pulled him to the ground. He gripped his ankle tightly; Reid could barely move his leg. Hotch pulled himself closer to Reid, trying to crawl on top of him. Reid tried to kick Hotch with his lose leg, but his attacker dodged his foot. 

Reid found an opportunity to pull his leg free, however, when Hotch seemed to be momentarily distracted by something. Had he realized what he was doing and stopped on his own? Reid would have no such luck, because as soon as he had crawled as far back from Hotch as the placement of the dining set would allow, he realized what was wrong. Hotch's eyes were fixed on the cabinet drawer where Reid new that Hotch kept his gun. Reid also knew that when Jack was not home, the gun was kept loaded.

"Hotch!" Reid said warning and pleading at the same time.

_Fight or Flight?_

All of a sudden, the air in the room changed and something snapped inside both desperate men. At almost the same precise moment, they both darted in the direction of the cabinet. Hotch, being closer, reached the drawer half a second before Reid did, and for the next minute or so they were a tangle of struggling limbs and aggressive grunts as they fought for possession of the handgun.

Just when Hotch was beginning to gain the upper hand, they heard a sound that Reid knew was his saving grace: trampling footsteps coming up the stares. The distraction was enough for Hotch to quickly yank the gun out of Reid's hands and level it to his head. Reid raised his hands in surrender just as he heard Morgan's voice yelling from the other side of the door.

"FBI!"

Three, two, one.

With one fluid motion the door down came with a loud crash and Morgan stepped inside, followed closely by Rossi.

"Hotch," Morgan warned, "We all know that this is not how you want things to be, so let Reid go and put the gun down."

"You don't know what the fuck I want, Morgan!"

"We know you don't want to hurt your team, Aaron," Rossi answered for his teammate. "Look at the kid, he's terrified."

"Reid," Morgan tried to comfort their former boss' hostage and gave a barely noticeable nod. Reid gave his friend a knowing look. It was mutually understood what Reid was supposed to do.  
Slowly, Reid shifted to one side then took one small step towards Morgan and Rossi.

"Don't fucking move!" Hotch commanded. "Do you think I'm a fucking idiot, you little brat?"

Reid shook his head rapidly. "N-no, Hotch, you're not an idiot. You're one of the most brilliant men I know!"

"Don't kiss my ass you scrawny little prick!"

"Let him come to us, Hotch," Moran insisted, speaking firmly but remaining calm. "Let Reid come to us, then we can talk."

"Talking won't help me anymore," the gunman who had once been their friend argued.

"Neither will shooting Reid," Rossi reasoned. "If you pull that trigger you won't out live him by two seconds, and don't think that just because we're old friends that I'll hesitate to kill you, Aaron."

"Look, Hotch," Reid began trying to negotiate his own way out, "You told Morgan that he doesn't know what you want. You're absolutely right; we don't know what you want. I came over here not intent on accusing you or interrogating you, but helping you. I still want to help you, Hotch, but you need to tell us what you want."

"I…" Hotch hesitated and began to slowly come down from his anger, it was visible on his face. He lowered the gun a few inches and averted his eyes. "I want her back, Reid."

"Hotch," Reid said in a manner that was as soothing as possible considering the fact that he still had a gun to him. "Hailey…she was gone before Foyet. Before you even divorced, the marriage was over. But all of that is beside the point. The point is that Hailey is gone. She's dead. And I know that makes you angry, but at some point you will have to accept it."

Hotch looked up again, this time making eye contact alternating between Morgan and Rossi. "I want her back," he repeated.

"Reid's right," Rossi said. "Aaron, listen to me. Hailey is dead. I want you to say it. 'Hailey is dead.'"

Hotch shook his head as if trying to clear it of an unwanted thought. "No. I want her back. I love her and I need to get her back!"

Just as Reid was about to take advantage of Hotch having his gun down, he raised his gun again, this time straight at Morgan. Reid did not have time to react before the shot rang out.  
Time seemed like it slowed down to a physically painful speed. Three shots were fired in quick succession, but only a loud grumble of white noise was heard.

Aaron Hotchner fell to his knees; three red circles on his chest slowly expanded and merged into one another.

"NO!" Reid screamed as he watched his friend fall to the floor. "Why did you have to shoot him?"

Already becoming emotional, Morgan's voice cracked. "Reid, I'm sorry, you know I didn't have a choice!"

"Shit!" Rossi exclaimed, stepping into the hall to call for an ambulance.

Morgan could not move. He only stood silent and still while he watched Reid drop to his knees beside their one-time friend. Reid let Hotch fall into his arms and laid his head gently on his lap.

"Hotch," Reid said tentatively, "Hotch, look at me."

Hotch struggled for a breath and coughed weakly. "I-I'm sorry," he choked out.

"I know," Reid assured. "And it's okay. I forgive you for everything."

"I'm a monster."

"No. No you aren't."

Reid could not look Hotch in the eyes when he denied it. There was no honest way to deny what Hotch had turned into. He had been so strong throughout his ordeal with Hailey, keeping joy in the fact that he could still be a good father to Jack. Then Foyet came along and threatened the lives of both his son and his ex wife who he still loved very much. On Jack's birthday all Hotch could do was watch a video and wish with what was left of his broken heart that he could hold his little boy. Instead he wasn't even allowed to know where he was, but he kept comfort in the fact that his family was safe. They didn't stay safe, though. Somehow that sadistic, sorry excuse for a human tracked his family down. Hotch tracked him down.

George Foyet killed Hailey Hotchner.

Aaron Hotchner killed George Foyet.

After that, Hotch simply did not have the strength to be strong for his son anymore. He fell apart and let himself be consumed by the rage he still felt for the Reaper and the agonizing grief he felt over the loss of his beautiful Hailey. The pain and anger destroyed him and he became…

A monster.

Reid felt Hotch relax against him. "Hotch, look at me. Stay here. We still have to figure something out for Jack, remember? I still want to help you."

Hotch gasped for one last breath. "I …I want…I want her back."

Reid began to cry as he mumbled a chorus of pointless pleas when he felt Hotch's head role heavily to the side and his body go limp.

Rossi re-entered the apartment to find Reid knelt on the floor weeping and cradling his friend's lifeless body, Morgan standing over them dumbfounded in an almost catatonic shock.  
The gray haired man let out a shaking breath and shook his head. "Good god, Aaron. Why?"

Rossi's voice seemed to have broken Morgan's trance and he slowly turned his head to face him. "Rossi, I'm –" Morgan tried in vain to apologize. Even had he finished his sentence, he knew it would have been nothing but empty words. He was sorry, but the fact meant little now.

Rossi interrupted. "Save it, Derek."

Rossi left. His footsteps echoed down the hall and down the stairs before they could no longer be heard, leaving Reid and Morgan alone, in silence aside from Reid's quiet sobs. It took several minutes for Reid to calm down enough to stop crying, and when he did, Morgan slowly knelt down in front of him, the body of their dead colleague between them. He already knew from before that an apology would be useless and empty, but they could not just sit in silence forever; someone had to bring the situation back to a manageable level, and Morgan could tell that that someone was not going to be Reid.

Morgan had not choice but to speak the empty words. "Kid, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Reid finally looked up from Hotch and straight into Morgan's eyes. His tone was both sarcastic and hurt. "For killing Hotch, for not inviting me to lunch or for getting mad at me now that you know that I was right all along?"

Morgan hung his head in regret. He was sorry (he very nearly hated himself) for all of those things. "Everything, Reid. I'm sorry for everything that's happened today."

The young agent's tearstained face softened. "It isn't your fault, Morgan."

Reid's sentence was punctuated by the distant sound of sirens growing closer and closer, and the two agents realized someone must have called in the gunshot. Reid didn't blame Morgan. Morgan knew cognitively that it was not his fault, but that didn't stop him from wanting to blame himself. There was no time for that though; soon they would have to explain this to the police, not to mention the girls and Strauss.

The DC Phantom case was far from closed. There would be no time for placing blame.

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

The funeral wasn't fancy; Aaron Hotchner wouldn't have wanted anything elaborate. It was the real Aaron Hotchner that they all gathered to remember and honor. Hotch: father, brother, leader, and friend, not the DC Phantom: killer, destroyer, and monster.

Jessica Brookes held little Jack Hotchner, who tried his best to stay strong like he always saw Daddy do, but in the end he sobbed quietly against Jessica's shoulder. The poor child had just lost both parents in one short month.

Reid had not lied to Hotch when he said that he wanted to help him figure something out for Jack. The story that was told to the orphan was simple: Daddy got shot when they went to get the bad guy. It was not a lie, only an omission of a truth so painful that even those who had witnessed the "Phantom's" final minutes on earth still could not quite fathom its possibility, let alone its reality.

One by one, the team laid a rose atop the smooth stained wood of the casket, Reid went first, then Rossi, Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia.

But not Morgan.

Morgan did not even go to the funeral. He couldn't bare cruel irony of mourning over someone whom he had killed, let alone the sight of a heartbroken Jack, or Sean for that matter. He did not want to face the son and brother of the man that he had killed (not to mention the fact that Rossi was still upset with him). He was a coward.

So instead, Derek Morgan stayed home with Clooney and a bottle of Scotch. He had never been fond of hard liquor until he sat up and drank with Hotch one night. Morgan had gotten so drunk and silly that he started to free-style rap, playing off of the fact that "Hotch" rhymes with "Scotch." This was one of the rare times he had seen the former unit chief laugh; not just smile, but fully and whole-heartedly laugh.

Despite his momentary depression, Morgan chuckled slightly at this happy memory. This in turn made him think about his situation from a different angle. Had he really taken away a brother, father and friend, or had he saved what was left of a good man? Had he really killed Hotch, or did he just kill the killer who had already murdered the true Hotch? Morgan stared at his empty shotglass, as if somewhere in the transparent vessel he might find answers to questions that should never have to be asked. The glass, to Morgan's drunken dismay, held no answers, so he filled it once again with the intoxicating amber fluid.

Before he could raise the glass to his lips there was a knock at the door.

"It's open," He slurred without even looking up. He only faintly heard the door squeak open and closed and latch shut.

"Not you too." Morgan looked up to see Rossi dressed in his Sunday best, minus the tie, no doubt having come straight from the funeral. "Drowning your sorrows in a bottle of Scotch. Reminds me of someone we knew once."

"Yeah, and we both know that you joined him for a shot more often that you'll ever admit. There's another shotglass in the cabinet above the microwave," Morgan said, motioning with his head in the general direction of the kitchen.

"Thanks, but I gave up drinking," Rossi laughed when he saw Morgan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, Making Morgan laugh as well. "I'll take that invitation."

When Rossi joined Morgan on the couch with the shotglass, Morgan poured the drink and asked, "So, I thought you were still mad at me. What brings you all the way over here?"  
"Still mad at you," Rossi said questioningly. "Derek, I was never mad at you."

"You haven' spoken one word to me since…"

"I'm sorry for that. It just took me a while for all of this to really sink in. And do you know what I realized when it finally did?"

"Hm?" Morgan grunted, not entirely enthused about one of David Rossi's famous hidden meaning philosophy sessions.

"I realized that a failure to accept reality can lead to a skewed perspective in our lives," he began. "Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and last but not least, acceptance. We can't deny it, we were there. You seem to have skipped anger, seeing as how you only have two people to be angry with: Hotch and yourself. You have nothing to bargan with, so that leaves you at depression."

"So where do I go from here?" Morgan asked, already knowing the answer, or so he thought.

"We'll the last step is acceptance. Not everyone accepts their reality and it eats them from their core to the surface like a termite in a log. There are three hard truths to accept here. The first is that our friend led a secret life that ended up killing him. The second is the fact that you pulled the trigger. Last is the not-so-simple fact that Aaron Hotchner is dead."

"I've accepted the fact that Hotch was a killer. I don't justify it but I understand what did it, and not just because I'm a profiler. I get grief, I get loss, and I defiantly get anger. The other stuff…" Morgan trailed off.

"What I have done," Rossi continued, "I separated Hotch and the DC Phantom."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Hotch may have been the DC Phantom, but the DC Phantom wasn't Hotch. The way I look at it is like this: the DC Phantom took Hotch captive and you killed the DC Phantom, freeing Hotch form the grasp of a Monster who had already killed him."

"You know, twisted as it is, I was thinking the same thing before you showed up," Morgan admitted.

"If you tell yourself that," Rossi advised, "Then you can more easily accept the fact that you pulled the trigger and focus on grieving over Hotch, the real one; the one we knew as a leader and a friend. You can focus on being a leader like he would want you to be for his team, because ready or not the burden of Unit Chief has officially fallen to you. If you can remember Hotch as Hotch, not as the DC Phantom, then you can lead by his example and run the team the way he would want it run." Rossi raised his shotglass from which he had yet to take a drink. "To the good times with our friend and leader Aaron Hotchner."

Morgan raised his glass as well. "To Hotch."

Morgan downed his shot and swallowed the liquor along with Rossi's words.

"I remember Rossi," Morgan reminded, "You told me before that I would have to be willing to step up."

Rossi nodded. "Are you?"

Could he step up after everything that had happened? Could he take Hotch's place?

Morgan could accept that Hotch had been the DC Phantom, but he would not dwell on it. That would not be the way he remembered Hotch and that would not be the way he wanted his team to remember Hotch. Morgan would make sure Hotch had a plaque in the hall like any other fallen agent, and he would make sure Jessica and Jack were taken care of. He could not take Hotch's place, but he could make his own. There was no way that Morgan thought he could ever be the leader Hotch was, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying. If he didn't go back to the BAU and lead his team, his team, his family would be broken up. He couldn't let that happen. Morgan had to step up, and he would do it for Hotch.

_"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."  
Philip K. Dick_


End file.
